


What Freedom Brings

by sonata_de_morte



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, pre slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 19:48:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonata_de_morte/pseuds/sonata_de_morte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the war, Harry doesn't know when to give up, and Severus teaches an unintentional lesson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Freedom Brings

**Author's Note:**

> This was my entry for the 2013 Snarry-a-thon. Reveals are up, so I'm posting it here. There will be a sequel.

The war had been over, really and truly over, for all of one hour, and Harry was exhausted. Not just physically, although he couldn't remember a time when his body had felt more tired than this, but mentally and magically as well. He was tapped out. Run dry. Over extended. All of these were words that Hermione had used when she was ushering him away from the admirers and well-wishers and people who just wanted to get a look at him. It had only been an hour, and already he was being hounded. What were the next few days going to bring? If Harry thought hard enough, he could probably figure out the answer to that question. But his skin was ashen, and his knees were already threatening to give out at any moment, so he refrained.   
  
Kingsley and a troupe of Aurors who were helping with the clean-up had suggested he be taken to St Mungo's to be looked over, but Madam Pomfrey had interjected, saying firmly that she was more than capable of looking after Harry in the Hogwarts hospital wing. After all, she had been doing it for years.   
  
Harry had to smile at that, and he let her and Hermione help him to the infirmary, glancing back once at Ron and Ginny who were huddled together with the rest of their family. Harry knew he was practically an honorary Weasley, and he felt the keen edge of Fred's death, but then, he felt all of them. Remus, Tonks, Colin, Dobby, Hedwig, Snape... everyone. Even Sirius and Cedric were starting to feel like raw wounds again. He was afraid that if he let himself feel for one, the pain of all of them would overwhelm him, and he couldn't deal with that at the moment. Not when he was struggling to keep his eyes open.  
  
Just the sight of the pristine white beds in the hospital wing when they arrived there, had him sagging with relief, and he barely took the time to kick off his shoes and pull his glasses off before he was sliding under the crisp, cool sheets, asleep before his head hit the pillow.   
  
Blissfully, it seemed that he was too tired even to dream, something he was grateful for when he woke later to the sight of Madam Pomfrey passing her wand over his body.   
  
"How-" he tried, his voice coming out as a croak. He swallowed and tried again. "How long was I out?"   
  
She smiled at him, putting her wand away. "About nineteen hours. Not nearly long enough, though."   
  
Harry looked alarmed. "Er...excuse the language, but that's almost a bloody day. How is that not long enough?"   
  
Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips. "Tell me how you feel, Mr. Potter."   
  
He opened his mouth to say that he was fine, as he had learned to do over the years no matter how he actually felt, but then he thought better of it and checked. His limbs still felt heavy and a bit like overcooked pasta. His head hurt, a pounding in his temples and behind his eyes, and his mouth was dry. He felt flat and run down still, and he sighed softly.   
  
"As I thought," Madam Pomfrey said primly. "You're suffering from exhaustion, Mr. Potter. Both physical and magical, though I daresay you can feel that for yourself. You're going to need to eat and rest. The world can wait for you to recover before they try to invade your privacy and heap on the accolades."   
  
The tone of her voice told Harry everything he needed to know about how she felt on the matter, and Harry had to agree. "If it'll keep people off my back, I'll stay here as long as it takes," he muttered, which was saying something because he hated being in bed doing nothing when there were things that needed doing. He blinked. Well, he supposed most of those things were done now. It was a sobering thought.  
  
"Are you hungry?" Madam Pomfrey was asking him.   
  
Harry shook his head. "No. I think...I think I'll just go back to sleep."   
  
"I'll let one of the elves know to bring you something when you wake up," she said, patting him on the knee. "Don't worry. You'll be out and about in no time."   
  
Somehow that thought did nothing to cheer him up.   
  


* * *

  
Harry frowned, unsure if the snatches of conversation he was hearing were in a dream or not. Once again, he had no idea of how much time had passed since he'd closed his eyes, and he couldn't be sure if he was actually awake or not.  
  
"There's nowhere else to put him," said a voice, and he thought it sounded like a very tired Professor McGonagall.  
  
"But surely you don't think..." And that was...a Weasley? Bill, maybe?  
  
"I think we've all had rather enough fighting to last us. These two especially. And seeing as they're both unconscious for the moment, I do not see the problem. Poppy, you'll keep us informed?"   
  
He could hear footsteps and then the sound of something, or more likely someone, being placed on the bed next to his.  
  
"Of course, Minerva," Madam Pomfrey said softly. "I don't care what people are saying. It's good to see him."   
  
"Yes, it is," McGonagall agreed. "Though I can imagine they both are going to have a great deal of explaining to do. Mostly to each other, I think."   
  
Whatever the reply to that was, Harry missed it as sleep pulled him under again. He fought it this time, trying to force his eyes open to see who they were talking about, but it was no good. His breathing evened out, and he was asleep once more.  
  


* * *

  
The first thing Harry was aware of when he woke up again was light filtering into the room and a large pair of eyes hovering over his face. He yelped and sat up too fast, making his head spin. His stomach was empty, and it grumbled loudly in protest of the fact. Harry groped along the nightstand for his glasses, shoving them on and blinking as the sight of Kreacher came into view. "Merlin's balls, Kreacher," he croaked. "Make some noise next time or something. You almost gave me a sodding heart attack." If he had known where his wand was, it would have been in his hand already. After fighting in a war and spending long nights being on the lookout for attacks, it was going to be hard to forget those reflexes.  
  
"Apologies, Master," the elf said, bowing low. "Kreacher has brought food for Master Harry."   
  
Harry remembered how Kreacher usually served him food, and he eyed the tray with trepidation. "Er...thanks," he said, turning his attention to the rest of the infirmary for the moment. He remembered the conversation from before, and he looked at the bed next to him, but was disappointed to see that the hangings were drawn around it.   
  
His hunger and his curiosity warred inside of him for a moment, but then his stomach gave a lurch, and Harry sighed, knowing he needed to eat before he could go poking at the next bed.   
  
He pulled the tray to him and was cheered at the sight of hot, filling food. Truthfully, he couldn't remember the last time he had eaten, and he started shoving food in his mouth with an eagerness that rivaled Ron's. He barely paid attention to what he was eating, forgetting all about his momentary concern. This was Hogwarts, and he had always gotten well fed here. Harry didn't expect that to change.   
  
"Does Master Harry require anything else?" Kreacher asked, and Harry shook his head. He thought about asking the elf to poke at the curtain around the bed, but thought better of it.  
  
"No, that's all, Kreacher, thanks."   
  
The elf gave a sarcastic bow and popped away.  
  
Harry slowed down on the food as his stomach stopped growling, pausing to drink the tea and water that had been on the tray as well. He took stock of how he felt as he chewed.  
  
His headache was all but gone, and he no longer felt like he was going to faint. It felt like his cuts and bruises had been healed, and Harry knew that that was thanks to Madam Pomfrey. Really, he felt better than he had in a very long time, and he sighed, leaning back against the pillows. His magic still felt low, so he wasn't going to run off just yet. Plus...there was still the mystery of who was behind that curtain.  
  
It was easier to think about that than...well, anything else really.   
  
He'd accomplished the thing that he had been working towards for the better part of the last six years, and now there was a yawning maw of unknown ahead of him. There was still plenty to do to clean up from the war. Hogwarts needed to be repaired; there were trials to attend and funerals. He hadn't even finished his education, really, and if he knew Hermione, then he knew that that was going to be on her list of priorities. As soon as she went to Australia and got her parents back, of course.   
  
All of that would take months to sort out, Harry knew, but beyond that... Beyond that he had no idea what he was doing. If he was honest with himself then he had to admit that he had expected he would have to die to kill Voldemort long before he had seen Snape's memories.   
  
Snape.   
  
That was another thing he didn't want to think about. Harry had thought that he knew the man so well, but in the end, he hadn't known anything. There were so many things he would have said to Snape if he'd had the chance, but snake bites like that didn't seem like something one would survive. If he'd had the chance after the dust had cleared, he would have gone back to the Shrieking Shack and brought the body down, but he hadn't had the strength. But maybe it wasn't too late for that. People needed to know that Snape had been Dumbledore's man through and through. A memorial needed to be held or something.  
  
The sound of crying reached his ears, and with a start, he realized it was coming from him. He moved his glasses and wiped his eyes angrily. This wasn't the time for grieving. He could do that later when he wasn't in the hospital wing.   
  
Madam Pomfrey bustled in, providing an excellent distraction from the torrent of emotions that were welling up in him.   
  
"Madam Pomfrey," he began, only to be cut off by her holding up a hand.   
  
"I know you have questions, Mr. Potter, but I have to make sure you're alright, and then attend to my other patient here."   
  
"I just want to know who the other patient is, though," Harry told her. "Is it...are they alright?"   
  
She sighed, taking out her wand and passing it over him. "I'm not sure yet. There are still tests to be run. He's alive, and that's the important thing."   
  
Harry blinked, watching the colors of the spells she was casting over him. It had to have been someone who they thought was dead, but Harry didn't know who it could have been. He'd seen the bodies and Remus and Fred and Colin, and there was no way they could have come back from that. Plus, if it were any of them, the infirmary would have no doubt been cluttered with students and professors.  
  
No...this was someone that no one would have been looking for. Someone who no one cared all that much about.  
  
"Madam Pomfrey..." Harry whispered. "Is it Professor Snape?"   
  
She looked down at him. "Mr. Potter..."   
  
"No, please. If it's him, I need to know. I thought...I thought I had failed him, like I failed so many others. If that's him over there, can you please tell me? I promise I'll stay in bed and let you run your tests and not pester you or him, but...I just really need to know."   
  
Apparently he had convinced her because she nodded. "It is. A group of Aurors and professors went into Hogsmeade to make sure that there weren't any Death Eaters hiding in wait, and they found him trying to crawl away from the Shrieking Shack. He was barely alive, but they brought him back here to me."   
  
"And...and can you save him?"   
  
She smiled. "I'm going to do everything I can for him. It seems he was aware this might happen because his stores were fully stocked with antivenin and healing potions. I'm competent enough to use them, so I will." Madam Pomfrey ended her spells over him and nodded. "You're healing right up, Mr. Potter. Your magic needs a bit more time to replenish itself, but everything else looks good. Do you need anything?"   
  
Harry shook his head, eyes wide and staring blankly at the wall. Snape was alive. He wasn't sure what the swooping feeling in his body was, but he could feel it all the way to his toes.   
  


* * *

  
Because of the rather sensitive nature of having the man who supposedly murdered Professor Dumbledore in the hospital wing, visitors weren't allowed. Apparently the headmistress had stationed an Auror outside of the hospital wing doors to make sure that no one tried to sneak in. From what Harry could tell, he had already had to turn away a contingent of Weasleys and Hermione. It made sense, though. The curtain was still around Snape's bed, but Harry could imagine what would happen if someone found out that he was there. Not everyone knew that Snape hadn't been the evil git he'd made himself out to be, and the Ministry was cracking down on hunting the remaining Death Eaters and making them stand trial.   
  
The trials would be held after the funerals, and Harry secretly hoped that he wasn't well enough to go to either of them. It wasn't that he didn't want to mourn for those that he had lost, because he did. He could feel the sadness, the grief, the _guilt_ like a knot inside of him. As long as he focused on something else, then he didn't have to worry about it breaking loose. Harry didn't think he could go to funeral after funeral and look at the faces of those left behind again and again. It seemed like too much.  
  
The trials were a different story, though. He knew they were important, but Harry rather thought that he had done his part already. Recounting all of the things that the Death Eaters had done to deserve life in Azkaban sounded awful. However, on his fourth day in the infirmary, the Auror, whom Harry didn't recognize, poked his head in.   
  
"I've got a letter from a Hermione Granger," he said. "Want it?"   
  
Harry nodded and got up from the bed to accept it. Trust Hermione to get past the no visitors rule. "Thanks," he said, taking the scroll and sitting cross legged on his bed.  
  
 _Harry,  
  
I hope you're doing alright. They won't let us in to see you, and they won't tell us why. Just that it's 'sensitive' at the moment. I'm assuming that means you aren't in there alone? If someone is alive who we thought was dead, they really should say, I think. But anyway, that isn't what I wanted to say. The funerals are going to start tomorrow. Enough clean-up has been done that people think it's time. I'm not sure of your condition because it's impossible to get any information out of Auror Edwards, and I haven't seen Madam Pomfrey. My point is if you're well enough, I know people would want to see you there._   
  
_The trials start next week. Most of the Death Eaters died or fled, but they have a few in custody. The Malfoys, for instance. I know you and Draco aren't friends or anything close, but... I don't think he deserves to go to Azkaban. Do you? I figured I would offer my testimony, and if you're still not well enough to attend, I could read something for you. Your words would mean more than mine, in this case. Just something to think about._  
  
 _Ron and Ginny and everyone say hello and that they hope to see you soon.  
  
Love,  
Hermione_  
  
When he thought about it, Hermione had a point. Harry had sort of forgotten about the Malfoys since he'd been in here. After facing down Voldemort, neither Draco nor his father seemed like that big a threat. Lucius deserved to go to prison, though, if only for letting his son get dragged into this whole mess. When Madam Pomfrey came in with a tray of lunch and another round of potions for Snape, he asked for some parchment and a quill. His magic would probably be back by the next week, but he figured it was just as well to let Hermione read his statement. She was better at these things than he was.  
  
He watched as Madam Pomfrey went behind the curtain, listening to her work. Snape still hadn't woken up yet, but with the amount of venom inside of him, Harry thought that made sense. Madam Pomfrey continued to be optimistic about it, saying that there was a marked improvement after each round of potions. The whole thing made Harry anxious.  
  
He wanted Snape to live, to have a chance to live life by his terms for once, but he wasn't sure he wanted to be here when the man woke up. Harry was fairly certain that Snape had only shown him those memories because he had to and because he assumed he wouldn't live to deal with the fallout. There was a part of Harry that thought he owed the man that much. To stay out of his hair and let him get on with his Voldemort-free life. But there was an even bigger part that had so many questions. So much was lost during this war, and Harry thought that if he and Snape could start over...maybe something could be gained.   
  


* * *

  
It was about four in the morning when Snape finally woke up.  
  
Harry had been in the infirmary for a full week at that point. Madam Pomfrey told him that he was free to leave as long as he rested and didn't use more magic than he needed to. Apparently dying and then coming back and killing Voldemort had taken more magical energy than he had expected it to, but that made sense. When he thought about leaving, Harry felt a little ill. He knew from Hermione that Grimmauld Place was still a mess, and that the Burrow was filled with grieving Weasleys. She and Ron were going to go to Australia to retrieve her parents soon enough, and Harry didn't even want to think about staying at the Burrow without them there.   
  
So he was staying. This was why he was there when Snape groaned loudly and opened his eyes.   
  
The curtain had been pushed back just a few hours before, giving Harry a good look at the man. There was a thick bandage around his neck, but he was clean thanks to a few handy spells. His skin was sallow, though, and he had a gaunt, sunken-in look about him. Lank, inky hair was spread out on his pillow, and Harry could just make out those coal black eyes blinking at the ceiling with the light from the moon outside.   
  
Before he could resist, he was out of his bed and tip-toeing closer to Snape's. The man seemed confused, and he frowned, a series of emotions flying across his face faster than Harry had time to identify them. Harry must have made some sound because Snape's eyes flew to him and then widened. "Where?" he croaked, voice raspy with disuse and injury.   
  
"The hospital wing. You're at Hogwarts," Harry whispered back, heart pounding. "Are you...alright?"   
  
Snape gave him a look that would have cowed Harry if he wasn't so used to seeing it, and he smiled a bit at the familiarity. "What. Happened?" Snape managed to get out next.   
  
"Er...do you mean to you? Or in general?"   
  
Another glare was the only answer, and Harry sighed. He didn't really fancy recounting the entire final battle. "They found you crawling away from the Shrieking Shack," he said finally. "That's all I know. You've been here for about a week."   
  
Snape seemed to be content enough with that answer. He closed his eyes for a moment, and Harry watched his chest rise as he took a deep breath. It startled him a bit when those black eyes opened again and trained on his face. "Dead?" the man rasped.  
  
"Voldemort?" Harry asked, ignoring the flinch at the name. The war was over. The man had no power anymore, and neither did his name. "Yeah. He's dead."  
  
A rattling sigh seemed to rush out of Snape, and Harry was alarmed for a moment because it sounded like the sigh one would take before they accepted death. And he knew something about that kind of sigh. But then Snape looked at him and nodded just once before turning over and putting his back to Harry, even though it seemed like it caused him pain to do so.  
  
Harry went back to his own bed, pulling the covers up over his head and thinking about all the things that nod could have meant.  
  


* * *

  
Harry wondered if he shouldn't tell Madam Pomfrey that Snape could actually talk. She was overjoyed that he was conscious, but she kept going on about how the damage to his neck and throat shouldn't have been so severe that it would keep him from speaking. Snape just kept the same blank look on his face, taking his potions and accepting cups of tea and bowls of warm broth.   
  
For his part, Harry kept to himself on his bed. He knew for a fact that Snape wouldn't thank him for interfering, and really, he didn't want to bring too much attention to himself in case Madam Pomfrey made him leave.   
  
Every day his magic refilled itself, and he knew it would only be a matter of time before he didn't have a reason to stay here anymore. But he wanted to put that off for as long as he possibly could. Meanwhile, Hermione kept him abreast of the news and recovery efforts via daily letters. The Auror at the door seemed to be more amused than annoyed at the prospect of playing mail man, and Harry was glad that he wasn't completely isolated. That wasn't what he wanted, really. He just needed a little break.  
  
 _Obviously you know who's in there with you,_ Hermione wrote in her letter, two days after Snape had woken up. _And I can only assume that who it is is the reason you're not telling me. Which actually tells me pretty clearly who it is. It has to be a Death Eater because all of our side is accounted for in one way or another, and it has to be one that there's some question about, otherwise he'd be on trial already, injuries or not. I'm not sure how you feel about it, though I think I have a hunch, but I'm glad he's alive.  
  
In other news, the trials are underway. The Malfoys had theirs yesterday, and I read your statement like you asked (though Ron made several jokes about just throwing it out). Lucius got thirty years, Narcissa's on house arrest for a year since they couldn't prove that she had actually been a Death Eater, and Draco's on serious probation for five. I don't even think he minds that it limits his freedoms. He spent most of the trial looking like he was going to cry.   
  
Anyway, I do hope you're feeling better and that you and the patient are getting on alright. We miss you.  
  
Love,  
Hermione_  
  
Harry chuckled, surprised at how glad he was that Malfoy the younger had gotten off. Probation would be good for him, Harry thought, and there was at least one thing he had done right so far.   
  
"What is so funny?"   
  
He practically jumped out of his skin at the sound of the familiar voice from the next bed over. Snape had been refusing to speak to him as well, and it was a shock to hear him initiate conversation. His voice sounded better for the rest, though. Less raspy than it had the other night and more like the smooth timbre it had had before.   
  
"Er…what?"   
  
"You were chuckling," Snape replied. "Why?"   
  
Harry blinked at the man, wondering why he cared. "Oh. Er…Hermione's been writing me letters about what's going on out there. She was reporting back about the trials."   
  
Snape's eyes dulled a bit and he looked away. "How are they proceeding?"   
  
"Seems like they're going according to plan. The Malfoys just had their trials yesterday."   
  
"Ah. Well, that would explain your good humor."   
  
"What is that supposed to mean?" Harry asked, frowning.  
  
"Your…feelings for the family have never been a secret, Potter. I'm sure you're only too glad to see them locked away. I won't deny that Lucius deserves it, but Draco…" Snape trailed off.  
  
Indignation warred with shock. This was the most Snape had said to him in a very long time, and he was speaking so evenly with just a hint of defeat in his voice. It made Harry angry that Snape thought that of him, but he couldn't bring himself to yell about it.  
  
"Draco _doesn't_ deserve it," Harry said finally. "Which is why I testified to keep him out of Azkaban. He's on probation, but even you have to admit that's better than the alternative."   
  
It was a bit unnerving how fast those eyes snapped back to him. "You have not left this infirmary," Snape said, and Harry could hear the accusation under his words.  
  
"No, but Hermione went, and I sent her something to read from me about the matter," Harry said. "I did what I could."   
  
"I see. And what of Narcissa?"   
  
"She's on house arrest for a year. Apparently she never took the Mark, so." Harry shrugged. "And like you said, Lucius deserved it. But even still, he only got thirty years."   
  
The room was quiet for a few long minutes, and Harry thought that Snape was finished talking for the day. He sighed and reached for the supply of parchment and the self-inking quill that Madam Pomfrey had procured for him, preparing to write Hermione back.  
  
"Why?" Snape asked, his voice sharp.  
  
"Why what?"   
  
"Why would you do that for them?"   
  
Harry sighed and lifted his glasses to rub at his eyes. "Because Draco and his mum saved my life. Because I saw how scared Draco was and how he didn't want to do any of it. Because I want this fucking war to be over already."   
  
"You were meant to die," Snape pointed out.  
  
Harry glared at him. "Yeah. I got that part, thanks," he snapped, and pulled the hangings around his bed, closed. He didn't want to talk anymore.   
  


* * *

  
Surprisingly enough it was a full two weeks after the end of the war before Harry had his first nightmare. He supposed the exhaustion had been making him sleep deeply enough that he didn't dream, but when the nightmare started, it started with a vengeance.   
  
He was walking down a road that seemed familiar somehow, though he couldn't place it until he found himself standing in front of his parents' graves. There was one larger grave next to it, and Harry frowned, leaning forward to read the name on it. He sucked in a sharp breath when he saw that the names of everyone who had died were carved into that one headstone and underneath were the words _Kill the Spare._   
  
There was no screaming when he woke up, but his face was wet with tears, and his shoulders were shaking with the effort of keeping his sobs quiet. He didn't know if Snape was awake, or even if he would care that Harry was under duress if he was, so he pulled a pillow over his face to further muffle himself, letting all of it just flow out of him at long last.  
  
So many people had died.   
  
And Voldemort didn't care about any of them. They were all as expendable as Cedric had been years ago. They died, and while it wasn't in vain, that didn't make Harry feel any better about it. He had been suppressing it for two weeks just about, but apparently he couldn't hold it back anymore.  
  
All of it, the guilt and remorse and anger, just came pouring out of him, and he clenched his fingers into the pillow so hard he thought his bones would bruise, but he didn't care. Harry rolled over onto his stomach, face still pressed into the pillow, and pulled the blankets over his head.  
  
It hurt. His chest was tight, and he felt like his heart was going to burst out of it with how fast it was beating. Flashes of green light and wide, unseeing eyes went through his mind, and Harry saw them all. He saw their families and their friends, and he saw himself, failing to get to them or be there when they needed him to be.   
  
He hadn't seen the _Prophet_ since he'd been in here, but he could imagine the things they were saying about him. Lauding him as a hero, as a savior, when all he really was was a scared teenaged boy who had no idea what to do with his life.   
  
It went on like that for what felt like hours, until the sound of something being placed on his bedside table startled him into awareness.   
  
"You are a fool," Snape said, and his voice was close enough that Harry had to peek out from the covers to see where he was. He blinked in surprise to see him standing next to his bed, placing a glass of water on the table.  
  
"I didn't know you could walk," Harry rasped, voice scratchy from crying.  
  
"I would imagine that there are a great many things that you do not know, Mr. Potter," Snape replied, and though the words were as insulting as always, Snape didn't sound angry or malicious. He just sounded tired.  
  
"Yeah, well," Harry said, wiping his eyes and reaching for the glass. "Why am I a fool this time?"   
  
Snape turned and walked back to his own bed, and for a moment, Harry thought he wasn't going to answer. But when the other man was settled in his bed, he spoke. "Because you blame yourself for something that was never your responsibility in the first place."   
  
Harry scowled. "How is protecting my friends and loved ones not my responsibility?" he snapped.   
  
"You're not all-powerful, Potter," Snape replied. "No matter how the press has exaggerated. Do you think there is one person who walked onto that battlefield who didn't know there was a possibility they might not leave it?"   
  
"I…" Harry hesitated.  
  
"Everyone knew the risks. Blaming yourself is only going to dishonor what they did. What they died for. None of it was in vain."   
  
"I _know_ that!" Harry hissed.  
  
Snape snorted. "No, you don't."   
  
"And what about you?" Harry demanded. "Don't you regret anything?"   
  
"Potter, I have more regrets than you will ever know," Snape said matter-of-factly. "My entire life is regret."   
  
"That's a little melodramatic, don't you think?" Harry asked, drinking from the glass and holding it in his hands.   
  
Snape glared at him. "You know nothing, Potter. Why are you hiding in here?"   
  
Startled by the abrupt subject change, Harry frowned. "I'm not hiding. I'm…"   
  
"You're what?" Snape said, arching an eyebrow. "You're not ill, so there is no reason for you to be here. Either you're hiding, or you're here for my benefit. If it's the latter, I assure you there's no reason for you to stay. I will finish healing and then go take my place in Azkaban."   
  
"You're not going to Azkaban," Harry responded firmly.   
  
"It is no less than I deserve, Potter. I am a Death Eater, and I killed Albus Dumbledore."   
  
"Because he told you to! You wouldn't have done it otherwise."   
  
Snape huffed. "You know nothing."   
  
"Stop saying that!" Harry snapped. "I may not be all-knowing like you think you are, but I'm not a bloody idiot. I was there, Snape. I saw what happened, and I saw your memories."  
  
Those glittering black eyes turned to him. "You were so eager to believe me the villain before."   
  
"Yeah, well…" Harry's cheeks flushed. "Things were different then. I know more now."   
  
"And you think what you know is enough to keep me from being convicted? I'm still Marked. I still served…him."   
  
"Look," Harry said, sitting up and leveling a glare of his own at the man. "Dumbledore wouldn't have wanted you in Azkaban. _I_ don't want you in Azkaban. So when the time comes, I'm going to do the right thing. I couldn't save…" he faltered and bit his lip before rushing on. "There were people that I couldn't save. And I thought you were one of them until they brought you here."   
  
"I don't need to be saved, Potter. Least of all by you," Snape snapped. "Learn to leave well enough alone."   
  
Harry smirked at him. "I'm a Gryffindor, remember? I don't know what that even means."   
  


* * *

  
Sooner than he had thought he would, Harry got a chance to show Snape just how serious he was. But it seemed that he wasn't needed.  
  
He had begun to lose track of the days as they all blended into each other. Sometimes Snape would talk to him, sometimes he wouldn't. Harry was surprised by how civil they were managing to be. Of course, the older man was still sharp and insulting, but it wasn't the same. He just seemed resigned.   
  
When he was ignoring Harry, he usually had his nose buried in a book, and every time the door to the hospital wing opened, those black eyes would snap up and then lower when it was just Madam Pomfrey or Auror Edwards. House-elves popped in and out, bringing food and tea, and Harry continued to receive letters from Hermione right up until the day that she and Ron left for Australia.   
  
Part of Harry wished that he could have seen them off, but another part was relieved that he hadn't, though he wasn't quite sure why that was. Probably because he would have had to answer all sorts of questions that he didn't know how to even begin thinking about. He knew that he was going to have to rejoin the real world eventually, but he rather thought that he deserved this little break after all that he had been through.  
  
Apparently things were moving along with the clean-up because it didn't take long at all for Kingsley Shacklebolt to stride into the infirmary, looking imposing and tired.   
  
"Harry," he said, stopping at Harry's bed first and shaking his hand. "It is good to see you. You'd be surprised at the number of rumors flying out there about where you've disappeared to."   
  
Harry snorted, returning the handshake and putting down the Quidditch magazine he had been reading before. "Probably less surprised than you'd think," he said. "How is everything going?"   
  
Kingsley sighed, and his eyes darted over to Snape's bed. Snape's lips were pressed into a tight line, and he was staring at the book in his hands, though Harry didn't see his eyes moving, so he knew the man wasn't actually reading.   
  
"There is still much to be done," Kingsley said finally. "We've rounded up all of the Death Eaters we can find, but there's no telling if we got them all or not. Draco Malfoy has agreed to provide a list of all of the ones he knows of so we can see how many are dead and how many are in prison. It was good of you to testify for him, Harry. He can be useful to us."   
  
Harry shrugged and picked at a loose thread in his sheet. "He didn't deserve Azkaban."   
  
"I agree," Kingsley replied. "There is still the matter of you, though, Professor Snape."   
  
Snape's thin hand clenched for a moment and then he looked up, face impassive. "I am a professor no longer, Shacklebolt," he muttered.   
  
Kingsley waved that away. "That remains to be seen. I have statements from Professor McGonagall, Hermione Granger, and Neville Longbottom that say you were not the man everyone thought you were, Mark or not. They've all three gone on record saying you were working for Dumbledore and the Order, which I can confirm, and Longbottom added that you prevented the Carrows from torturing a number of students over the school year. I also received a letter the other day, detailing the plans of Albus Dumbledore regarding you and Harry. If they are true, then…well, I'm here to deliver good news."   
  
"A letter from whom?" Snape demanded, glaring at Harry.  
  
"Dumbledore himself, it seems," Kingsley answered. "All of the spells to check for forgery came up negative, and it's dated before his death. It seems he wanted to make sure you were taken care of, Professor."   
  
Snape didn't seem to know what to do with that. He stared down at the white sheets on his bed and was silent.   
  
Kingsley turned back to Harry. "Can you confirm the details here, Harry?" he asked, pulling a rolled up piece of parchment from his robes.  
  
Harry took it and had to close his eyes and let out a breath when he recognized the handwriting. Definitely from Dumbledore, then. The letter was short and to the point, explaining what Dumbledore had needed Snape to do and how it would affect everything. It all matched up with what Harry had seen in Snape's memories, so he nodded, looking back up at Kingsley. "Y-yeah. It's all true," he said.  
  
"Excellent. Then it is my pleasure to declare you acquitted of any crimes that you might have been accused of, Severus Snape."   
  
Snape was still silent, so Harry spoke up. "You can do that?"   
  
Kingsley winked. "Interim Minster, Harry. I have plenty of power now." He waved away Harry's congratulations and smiled. "Harry, Madam Pomfrey has released you, so you can leave whenever you like. Professor Snape, you're free to go as soon as you get a clean bill of health. Auror Edwards will remain here until you're released, but you can have visitors if you'd like." He stood and clapped Harry on the back. "It's time for things to move on."   
  


* * *

  
And move on they did. Madam Pomfrey essentially kicked Harry out of the hospital wing with the help of Professor McGonagall. Snape had refused to speak to him for the rest of his time there, and so Harry had left, feeling put out.  
  
Molly Weasley had immediately shown up and whisked him away to the Burrow, but Harry couldn't stay there for very long. The house wasn't the same without Fred there, and George was like a shell of his former self. Ginny kept trying to corner him when they were alone, and he was nowhere near ready to talk to her about getting back together. He wasn't even sure if that was what he wanted.   
  
Everything was different now, and he had no idea where he fit in with this new, Voldemort-free world. He supposed the first thing he needed to do was find somewhere to live. Somehow living alone at Grimmauld Place with its memories and dark, dusty corners was more depressing than anything else. It only took one visit, punctuated with Walburga Black's screeches, to have his mind made up and he Apparated out. He had plenty of money from both the Potter and Black vaults, so he was just going to have to find a new place.   
  
Granted, he wouldn't be staying there long since he planned to return to Hogwarts in September to finish his schooling. He'd exchanged enough letters with Hermione to know that she wanted that for the three of them, and since he didn't have any other plans, it seemed as good an idea as any.  
  
With some help from Percy Weasley of all people, Harry found a nice flat right between Muggle and Wizarding London. It was small but cozy, and most of all, it was his.   
  
As May gave way to June, Harry begun to get his life in order. He furnished his flat, visited with the Weasleys (and finally got the courage to tell Ginny that it was over with minimal hurt feelings), helped rebuild Hogwarts, and tried to think about what he wanted to do after school was through. He also tried to visit Snape, who was still in the hospital wing as far as he knew, but the man had apparently decided he didn't want to be disturbed and had Madam Pomfrey send him away.  
  
The woman seemed to think that Harry was doing the right thing, though, since she told him that Severus was going to be released on June 16th. Harry didn't know where Snape was going to go. He supposed that the man had a house somewhere, and since he had been cleared of all charges officially during the last week of May, he could probably go back to teaching if he wanted, but Harry couldn't really see him doing that.   
  
There were so many unanswered questions about Severus Snape, and even though it would be perfectly reasonable for the two of them to let the end of the war be the end of their dealings with each other, Harry didn't think he could do that.   
  
So he was there on the sixteenth, waiting outside of the hospital wing and eavesdropping on Madam Pomfrey's final instructions to the man.  
  
It was miraculous that he had survived the attack, and even more so that he wasn't going to have much lasting damage, but Harry supposed that Snape had always been something of a survivor, using his intelligence and wit to get him through most things.   
  
Harry stepped back from the door when he heard footsteps approaching, and he rocked back on his heels, opening his mouth to head off whatever disparaging comment Snape wanted to make. Of course, when the man stepped through the door, all of that bravado dried up.   
  
He had gotten used to seeing Snape supine and sallow looking and it had been about four weeks since he had last laid eyes on him. Now he was still pale and looming, but there was a glow of health about him that Harry hadn't ever seen before. His hair was longer than usual, hanging lank and limp about his shoulders, and his nose was as beaklike as ever, but there was something different about Snape beyond the thick, ropy scar that marred his neck.   
  
"Potter," Snape sneered, looking down at him. "You never did know when to leave well enough alone."   
  
Harry had to blink several times to make himself focus. "I…what?" he asked, tilting his head and still staring. What was it that had changed?  
  
Snape rolled his eyes and made to walk away. "Apparently your intelligence has remained unremarkable as well," he said, striding off down the corridor in a move that lacked the usual flare since he was wearing Muggle clothes and not billowing robes.  
  
Harry gaped at his back for a moment and then it hit him. For all Snape had tried to be prideful and commanding before, there had been a slump to his shoulders. The weight of expectations and duties piled up and keeping him from walking tall. But that was gone now. Snape walked with purpose and pride, unafraid and seemingly unconcerned. It was freedom.  
  
The same freedom that Harry had now that terrified him. Snape could do anything he wanted, really. Sure, people would balk at first, whisper behind his back and call him any number of things, but what mattered was that Snape knew he was a free man. He had done his part and done it well.  
  
Suddenly, Harry was envious of that assurance.   
  
He shook himself out of his thoughts and jogged after the other man. "So…what are you going to do now?" Harry asked when he'd caught up.  
  
Snape shot him a sidelong look. "In regards to what, Potter?"  
  
"Your life. I mean…people know the truth now, yeah? You could do anything."   
  
They walked in silence for a moment, and Harry didn't push, instead looking around at the corridor they were walking along. There was still rubble and scorch marks to be seen, but it was clear that the school was coming back together again.   
  
"What are _you_ going to do now?" Snape replied finally, answering the question with the same question.  
  
Harry shrugged. "Come back here and get my NEWTs first, and then…I don't know. I still need to think about it."   
  
He looked up at the other man could tell that he had caught Snape by surprise for a split second before the usual impassiveness returned. "I am sure the Auror program would welcome you without having completed your education," he said, voice dry.  
  
"I know, and believe me they've already been making offers. But I don't want it like that," Harry said. "Not because I'm Harry Potter or because they think I defeated Voldemort."   
  
"You did defeat him, though," Snape pointed out.  
  
"Not on my own," Harry said firmly. "If it were left to me, I would have been dead years ago." He shot Snape a glance. "You helped."   
  
Snape made a dismissive gesture. "To answer your question, Potter, I have not decided what I am going to do, either. It would be easiest to return to my teaching duties, but I find that that option lacks appeal."   
  
"Yeah, I can't really see you working for anyone else ever again," Harry said with a shrug.  
  
"You surprise me, Potter. I had not expected you to be so…intuitive."   
  
Harry smiled. "I was never as stupid as you thought I was, Professor."   
  
"I am no longer your professor," Snape put in. "And you are no longer a child."   
  
"That's true…" Harry said slowly. "Are you inviting me to call you Severus, then?"   
  
Snape's face twisted into a grimace, and Harry laughed, feeling lighter than he had in a while. "Do as you please," Snape—Severus—said. "Merlin knows you have never listened to me anyway."   
  
"I listened when it counted," Harry said softly.  
  
Black eyes met green and held for a moment. "I will give you that." Severus was silent for a beat, and then shook his head. "Haven't you things to do, Potter? I can't see why a seventeen-year-old would want to be cooped up in this dusty castle on a day like this."   
  
Harry laughed again. "I'm going to take that as you dismissing me."   
  
"Believe me, Potter. If I wanted to dismiss you, I would not be subtle about it."   
  
"That's certainly true." Harry bit his lip and rocked back on his heels once more. "Do you think…do you think that we'll still see each other? Even though I'll be here, and you won't?"   
  
"I cannot fathom why you would want to continue to see me, Potter," Snape said, and he did genuinely sound confused.  
  
"Neither can I, really, but…" Harry trailed off.   
  
Severus seemed to consider that before he spoke again. "Minerva has been discussing how things will be for the eighth years, as she is calling you returning students. You will mostly be free to come and go as you please when you aren't in lessons." He looked at Harry and then started walking again, heading towards the stairs.   
  
It took Harry a bit, but then he understood, and he smiled. It was an invitation. And one he already knew he would take advantage of. Maybe if he spent more time with Severus, he would figure out how to walk that tall.   
  
"You're going to get sick of me!" he called, and it was possible to hear the other man's snort from where Harry was standing.   
  
"That is my default state, Potter," Severus replied. "I have rather grown used to it."   
  
Harry's smile widened, and he watched Severus until he had gone down another flight of stairs. In a couple of months, Harry would be back here for another year, and then he would be going off into the world. He had no idea what he wanted, but he realized that that was okay. For the first time in a while, his life hadn't been planned for him, and seeing how that had transformed Severus made him grateful for it.   
  
He looked out the window and decided to take a walk. It really was a beautiful day.


End file.
